


in the grand deeds of great men and the smallest of gestures

by missveils (Missveils)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (but not reader addressed if that makes sense), (it sounds so bad and it's like 1 line but), Angst, Bathing/Washing, Goodbyes, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Poetic, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Vomiting, not explicitly solavellan in there but referenced, poetic second person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missveils/pseuds/missveils
Summary: As you cross the Eluvian, a broken, blood-curling scream cuts the air. Your heart misses a beat. And you let your staff hit the ground and run towards the source of the scream, to Dáire, as fast as you can. Ready to face the danger with your own hands, caution be damned.You find him at the top of the stairs, on his knees, alone, holding-Charcoal-black. Cauterized. Raw skin. Discolored up to his face. The pile of smoldering ashes on the stone. The remnants of the bones breaking the skin like two sharp broken arrows.Holding what is left of his arm.---Immediately post-trespasser pavellan or a list of reasons why dorian could not propose at halamshiral
Relationships: Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	in the grand deeds of great men and the smallest of gestures

The words have been fluttering in your chest for months. Soft, studied, rehearsed. With enough emotion to bring tears to his eyes. 

The ring in your pocket could be as light as a feather or as heavy as stones. Thin gold band, raw emerald, polished jet. Light enough it’s almost not there, light enough it will not catch on his clothes or hurt his hand while climbing. 

The place you have known since the start. The balcony where you first shared a dance. At sunset, as the music starts to play from the streets. Or maybe at dawn, after a night of dancing, as the birds start singing in the garden. 

You have a plan. But, as the days go by, you start to realize that it will not come to pass. For several reasons. Enough reasons. You have made a list, in fact:

**i. because he will die and you cannot take this heartbreak.**

As you cross the Eluvian, a broken, blood-curling scream cuts the air. Your heart misses a beat. And you let your staff hit the ground and run towards the source of the scream, to Dáire, as fast as you can. Ready to face the danger with your own hands, caution be damned. 

You find him at the top of the stairs, on his knees, alone, holding-

_ Charcoal-black. Cauterized. Raw skin. Discolored up to his face. The pile of smoldering ashes on the stone. The remnants of the bones breaking the skin like two sharp broken arrows. _

Holding what is left of his arm. 

“Amatus, what…”

He stops screaming for a moment when he looks up to you. You fall to your knees beside him. The words get caught in his throat: 

“D-Dor-”

The Inquisitor looks back at his arm and retches. He is sick on the floor as you reach out to hold him. You hear him take one deep gurgled breath and fall back on your arms. 

His heart beats so hard you can feel it through your clothes. His breathing is fast and shallow. You need to get him out of here and back through the Eluvians. 

You walk back, holding him in your arms. And he reminds you of an injured bird Felix found in his father’s garden. When he put it in your hands it was surprisingly light, hollow bones and fluttering heart. It did not survive, no matter how much you tried. 

As you cross the mirror, you hold his head close to your chest. And you wish he could hear you as you recite over and over into his hair:

_ Please don’t die.  _

_ Please don’t leave.  _

_ Please don’t break my heart.  _

**ii. because he is a star about to go supernova**

And whether the wave hits the world or just your heart, you know you’ll be caught in it. Just as you were caught in the wave that bloomed from his arm, as he curled up helplessly, his hand in the air. It felt like falling in your sleep, it felt like missing a step in the dark, but much more empty and vast. And you wonder if this is what he feels, what he has felt since the sky ripped in two over his head. 

The anchor is no longer there. The curtains in their quarters are drawn and the familiar glow is gone. 

Dáire’s arm is bandaged and he’s been fighting a fever for three days. You wipe wet white locks from his face as he writhes in his sleep. He whimpers, pleads and shouts words in elvish that you wish you could understand. 

Sometimes he opens his eyes and they are blue and bright. He looks at you, but he does not see you. And he speaks and it’s terrifying. 

Something happened past that Eluvian. And whatever storm sweeps the world next, you just know he will be in the eye of it. 

_ Please let me hold him close as long as I can.  _

**iii. Because he holds the world and it spills from him**

And he is a river you are trying to hold with your bare arms. 

Because since you met him he has always held the world in his hands. And then he held history in his dreams. And that responsibility has been weighing in his chest for years. 

Dáire finally opens his eyes and calls for you. You hold him as he tells you what happened. It’s fragmented and chaotic, and you are not sure what is real and what is just dreams. 

You are sure Solas should be glad he left before you crossed the Eluvian because you would have been ready to kill a god. Or whatever he is. 

You help Dáire out of bed when he tries to lean on his left arm. You help him out of his clothes. You help him in the bath and wash his hair.

He says: “I’ve never seen you with a beard.” 

And you laugh for the first time in days. You see him try to reach your face with both hands and stop, eyes falling to his left arm. You hold his face instead and kiss him like it’s the last time you’re kissing him. 

Word that the Inquisitor is awake spreads fast. It’s only a few hours after he has helped him back to bed that Josephine storms in the room requesting he addresses the council. 

“They’ve been waiting three days! If we let it go any longer we will surely be at war with Ferelden, Dorian!”

“Yes. It’s been  _ three days  _ since the Inquisitor  _ stopped a war with Seheron.  _ You’d think they could hold their mabari a little longer.”

Yet Dáire stands from the bed and starts to get dressed. You complain but he brushes it off. You let him lean on your arm, but he stands upright and walks into the chamber on his own. 

Through the door, you hear him address the Council and disband the Inquisition. You feel the weight those words have on the masses, and you can tell he is tipping the scales of the world again. Just with a few words. Sometimes you wish you could have that influence, everything would be much easier. 

When he steps out he takes two steps and falls into your arms again. 

He says: “I’m not sure what I’ve said. But it’s over.”

He says: “I’m no longer the Inquisitor. No more.”

He says: “I just want to eat. I want you to read to me. I want you to kiss me. I want to sleep.”

He says: “Please, vhenan.”

**iv. because this was your fault**

Or at least you should have seen it coming. For all your book smarts and knowledge of history and magic, nothing was of use. 

“He took the anchor to save my life.” He said. 

And maybe that’s true. But if what Dáire has told him is true, it was also the elf’s fault that he had the anchor in the first place. That he had to clean up the mess behind him. 

All your books and all your magic and you were the one who suggested he walk up to Solas and kiss the physical embodiment of the god betrayal in their culture. Who then left.

As you did. 

And who broke the trust Dáire had on him 

_ Please, Maker, don’t let me do that _ .

**v. because you have to leave**

And you think of the crypt holding your father’s corpse and you resent him for pulling you away from your love and your life again, even from beyond the grave. 

You think of your servants, eager to return home, who have already sent dozens of letters sending your apologies for the delay. 

You think of Maevaris, facing the magisters on her own. 

And you know your time in Orlais is coming to an end. 

But when Dáire dreams, he reaches out with his left arm and screams. Whether the words are directed at you, you are not sure. 

“Please, don’t go! Please, don’t leave me! Ir abelas! Ma halani!”

  
**vi. because he has to leave**

On the day you are going to say goodbye, you find him in his quarters, fully dressed with his pack and his staff on his right shoulder. 

The rest of his things are still in the room. There is a pile of letters on the table. He is not leaving with the rest. And he is not going back to Skyhold. 

“I’m leaving too,” he says. 

You walk him out of the palace in silence and stop at the gate. 

“Dorian…”

“I hope you find what you’re searching for, amatus. And if you don’t, I hope you have fun. And get into the interesting situations you always seem to get into.” You hold the locket with the crystal in your fist. “And I hope you tell me stories about them. And at this point, I will believe all of them, even the fake ones. Meanwhile, I will slowly decay on my chair in the Magisterium as I try to convince half a hundred old men that, owning people? It is bad, who’d have thought.”

Dáire laughs and for a moment you are entranced by the moon shining on his hair as he throws his head back. 

“I hope you try to have fun too, vhenan. I hope you also tell me all about it.”

“Yes. I’m sure it will be the perfect bedtime story.”

He hugs you tightly and you rest your chin on his head. You wish this moment would last forever before you lose this light in your life for… a few months? A few years? A decade? Forever? Maybe he will walk in the fade and you will never see him again. 

Maybe Dáire has felt your heart skipping a beat or the tension in your embrace as he steps back and holds your hand. 

“I will go home, to see my family again. I will search, but I do not know what I will find. And after I have walked for miles, I would like to have a place to return to. If that place has a garden, candied grapes, and golden bracelets, all the better. And you.”

And you kiss him. And forget the moon, it feels like kissing the sun. The Herald of Andraste, the Comte of Kirkwall, the mouthpiece of Mythal, the Hero. Leaning into the kiss in his tiptoes. Grasping at your arm. 

“Please, wait for me. I will come to you,” he says, as he lets go of his hand and follows the road North. 

  
  


And you know it’s a promise. And maybe it’s not the promise you had planned for. Maybe it was not at sunset in the balcony. Maybe there was no ring. Maybe you did not speak a single word. But he did bring tears to your eyes. 

And at least next time you will already have half the plan thought out. 

If not, you are sure you will come up with a Plan B. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote for @littlegumshoe (on Tumblr) about their m!Inquisitor, Dáire. You can check out art of him over here:
> 
> https://littlegumshoe.tumblr.com/tagged/dáire
> 
> (removed from the inquisitor dáire lavellan series as this is no longer part of his canon, but this is still cute <3)


End file.
